


Broken Lillies

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-15
Updated: 2007-12-18
Packaged: 2019-01-19 23:16:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12420276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: Now she's angry, she's angry with everything, with everybody. But mostly with him. And with them. She hates them. So, so much. She tells herself that one day, they'll pay . They'll be sorry they took him. They'll be sorry."They'll be sorry." Lily Potter whispers softly, staring blankly at her blood covered hand."They'll be sorry."((REVIEW!!! ...





	1. Prolouge: They'll Be Sorry

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

  
Author's notes: 1  


* * *

 A/N: I own nothing but the OC's. Please, please review.  


 

      Sobs wrack her body. She clings to the picture frame, holds it to her chest tightly. 'He can't be gone,' she tells herself. 'He's just gone to the store, like he said. Please, please don't let him be gone!' But she knows he is. They've taken him, and he's not coming back, They won't find his body. She isn't quite sure how she knows this, only that it's true. They had been hunting him down for months, ever since they escaped from prison. And now they'd found him. They'd captured Harry Potter. They'd gotten her daddy, and, somewhere in the back of her eleven-year old mind, she knew he was never coming back. She looks down at the picture. It's of the two of them, laughing and smiling. Screaming, she throws the picture across the room. It hits the wall, shattering the glass. 

"NO!" She picks up the broken frame, barely even registering the fact that glass is pricking her all the while. She doesn't feel the pain. She feels nothing but her grief.

She numbly picks the picture up, for it had slipped out of the frame. She stuffs it in her pocket and tosses the broken pieces of glass in the garbage. All except for the piece that had pierced her palm. That one she holds in her hand. 

She closes her hand tightly. Blood drips slowly onto the floor. She drops the glass. She lowers her head, until a curtain of jet black hair covers her face. She angrily wipes the tears from her face with her sleeve, but those are soon replace with others, and soon she can't even see, she's crying so hard. She screams again, a long, tormented, grief-filled scream. It wasn't supposed to be like this, she says. He was supposed to be here. He wasn't supposed to leave me. She collapses onto the ground, her head in her hands. 

Now she's angry, she's angry with everything, with everybody. But mostly with him. How could he go out in plain daylight? He knew, he knew they were after him! She's angry with them, too. She hates them. So, so much. She tells herself that one day, they'll pay . They'll be sorry they took him. They'll be sorry. 

"They'll be sorry." Lily Potter whispers softly, staring blankly at her blood covered hand. She gets to her feet, though she still shakes with rage and grief and some other emotion she can't quite place. She picks up the piece of glass again. She walks up the stairs to her room, the glass clutched in her hand. She pushes the door open and looks around. There, sitting on the bed is the teddy bear he won for her last year. And on the dresser, the jewelry box he'd given her last month, for her birthday. There was her Hogwarts letter, on the desk. He'd been so excited for her. And then, around her neck, the necklace he'd given her that morning. 'Wear it while you're at school, just so you won't forget about me.' He'd told her, smiling playfully. 

She pulls on the charm roughly. She lets go. It falls to the floor, and she doesn't bother to pick it up. She walks to her bathroom and sits down on the floor. She brings the glass down on her wrist, slicing through the soft skin. She watches with a sick interest as the blood trickles onto the floor, forming a tiny puddle.   
"They'll be sorry..." 


	2. Four Years Later...

A/N: Obviously, I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, I very seriously doubt I would be writing fan fiction. :-)

Also--Please, please, please review!

 

She watches as the bubbles begin to disappear. She likes the way they just...vanish. She sighs once they are all gone, and tilts her head back so that it rests on the rim of the bathtub. She smiles lightly as she closes her eyes, enjoying the feeling of simply being.   


When Lily wakes up, the water isn't warm anymore. It's cool; not quite hot, not quite cold. She likes it. She sits completely still for a moment. Then, slowly, she leans back until she is completely submerged in cool, soapy water. She comes up for air nearly two minutes later, gasping for air. Lily blinks rapidly once she catches her breath. She reaches for her shampoo, which is sitting on the shelf near the tub. It smells nice, she thinks, sort of like honey. 

    She washes herself quickly, because the water is rapidly losing any remaining heat. By the time she wraps herself tightly in a fluffy, maroon towel, she is shivering violently. She walks to the sink and surveys herself in the mirror. Black hair hangs limply around a thin, pale face, and large emerald eyes peer back at her. Her face, made thinner by lack of food, looks tired, she observes. She knows the rest of her looks no better. She knows that underneath her towel, every rib sticks out and every bone is visible. Lily blinks. She looks away quickly and grabs her toothbrush.   


     An hour later Lily sits down on her bed, shoulders slumped and head down. The other girls who inhabit the room pay her no mind as she pulls the curtains around her bed. Once she is completely surrounded by maroon curtains, Lily preforms a silencing charm. She falls back onto the bed, arms spread wide.  
  
   Lily knows that cutting is not a good habbit. Lily also knows that she could die should she accidentally slit open a blood vessel. Lily watches as blood trickles down her arm. She holds her arm in the air so that the red liquid falls onto the red and gold blanket covering her bed. She likes the way the red turns into black once the soft material absorbs it. Lily brings the knife to her wrist again and slices through the soft flesh slowly. She likes the way it stings. It helps remind her that she is, unfortunately, alive. It also reminds her that he, unfortunately, is not. This time, as the drops blood fall onto the blanket, her tears fall as well.

  
    Lily wakes up before dawn the next morning. Her wrist stings, she notes with satisfaction. After switching on her lamp and making sure that the cleansing charms she'd preformed the night before had worked effectively, Lily swings her legs over the side of the bed and makes her way to the bathroom.   
She dresses quickly and quietly, trying very hard not to wake the others. She slips quietly out the door, down the stairs, and into the warm, inviting common room.   


"Going somewhere, Potter?" Lily's head whips around in the direction of the voice. Neal Finnigan raises an eyebrow in a silent question. He is sitting in a large cushy chair, feet propped up on the end table, a large book on his lap. He looks tired. She wants to ask him why he's up so early. Instead, Lily merely blinks and continues walking towards the portrait hole.   


   The air in the hallway is considerably warmer than what Lily expected. She is glad, since she didn't think to bring her cloak. She walks in long, quick strides, her books clutched tightly to her chest and her bag swinging wildly. Lily doesn't stop to answer the portrait of some long-dead witch when it asks her what she thinks she's doing, waking her up so early.   


   Lily sits on the floor outside the library until it opens. Madame Pince welcomes her inside with a small smile; she is used to Lily's early morning visits. Lily sits down at her favorite table and pulls out her book. She pushes a strand of ebony hair behind her ear as her eyes drink in the words on the page before them. The book, Lily thinks, is quite good. It's called 'Quidditch Through The Ages'. She's read it more times than she cares to count. Each time she reads it, it makes her a tiny bit less sad. You see, her father used to read the same book over and over. He, in fact, read it to her for the first time when she was five. He used to read some of it to her every night, even after she learned to read. He would curl up beside her and she would rest her head on his shoulder and look at the pictures.   
Now she reads alone, her head resting on her hand. 

 

    "Students, please open your text books to page nine-hundred and fifty-seven." Later the same day, Lily sits in a desk-the one at the very back of the room- and wonders why she even bothers to come to school at all. 'It isn't as if I don't already know these things,' she scoffs to herself as she opens her book. 'I already read the entire book twice. I could transfigured Adam Ledford into a pencil in fourth year. If they would just let me leave early, I could start looking for dad.'

"Today, class, we will be learning about human transfiguration." Cheering fill the room. Professor McGonagall places a hand on her hip and awaits silence. Lily snorts mentally. She really has no idea what they're so excited about. All this means, she tells herself, is that at least one of them be walking around with tails for the next two months. Someone is bound to goof off and mutilate their partner.'  
"Human transfiguration is _not_ something that should be played with. It is complex magic, and, if used wrongly, it _can_ be deadly." Professor McGonagall surveys her students sternly. 

"What if we get stuck?!" A very annoying girl (in Lily's opinion, anyway) exclaims loudly, her blue eyes wide. Professor McGonagall sighs.

"Well, then I suppose you will be kept in a cage until we can sort you out, won't you?" She says, one eyebrow raised. The girl whimpers.

"Today, however, we will be doing _no_ magic. I would like you to read what your text book says on the subject. If you finish, read it again." Professor McGonagall sits down at her desk. For a few minutes, everything is silent. Lily relishes the sound-or rather, lack of. She looks down at her text book, pretending to read, while actually running over her list of places her father couldn't be. 'Basement below the Malfoy Manor, Department Of Mysteries...'

"Psst! Potter!" Lily's head shoots up. She smiles slightly. 

"Yes, Rose?" Lily's lips barely move as she speaks to her cousin-and only friend- in a voice so quiet that no one but Rose could possibly hear it.

"You've already read it, haven't you?" Rose asks, chuckling. Lily nods and raises her eyebrows, silently returning the question. Rose nods. Lily smiles and turns back to her book.

"Lily! Hey, Lily!" Lily blinks and looks at the familiar face that is currently turned in her direction. 'Why in the world is he talking to me?' she wonders. Neal Finnigan never talks to her. In fact, _no one_ \- save Rose- ever talks to her.

"Lily?" He asks hesitantly, and she raises an eyebrow.

"Your sleeve." He says, eying her right hand. Lily looks down in confusion. Emerald eyes go wide. Her sleeve had somehow come unbuttoned and slip up to expose her wrist. And the red, slit-like cuts that adorned it. She quickly re-buttons the sleeve and pulls it down to cover her wrist. When she looks back up, Neal has already turned around.

'He's going to tell someone...' She fears, biting her lip hard. 

 

When class is over, she taps him on the shoulder.

"Ye-oh. Lily." He surveys her through dark brown eyes.

"Hello." This is the first time he's ever heard her voice. It's nice, he thinks.

"Listen, Neal, what you saw...it wasn't what it looked like." His eyes take on a concerned gleam at her words. 

"Really? Because it looked like you had been-"

"No!" She shushes him, eyes wide with fear.

"Come here." She pulls him into the corner of the classroom.

"I _wasn't_ , okay? I just...I just...it was an accident." Lily explains feebly. He shakes his head in disbelief. 

"Look, I don't care if you cut yourself or not. I won't tell. I just thought that you maybe wouldn't want anyone else to find out." Neal shakes his head and backs away. Lily looks at the floor as she quickly exits the classroom. She walks towards the library the second time that day. All the other students were headed to lunch. Lily isn't hungry.

 

As soon as she locks the stall door, her shoulders begin to shake violently. She sobs loudly, and hugs herself as she sits down on the closed toilet lid. She pulls the silver knife out of her bag. It's very small, and fits into the little pouch she cut inside the lining. She pushes her sleeve to her elbow. How could they teach about him, she wonders as she slices through her skin. How could they? How _dare_ they mention him is some stupid history class? She sobs louder still as she watches the blood trickle onto her gray skirt. No one hears her. But, then again, no one ever does.   



End file.
